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Sunday, 16 December 2007
George's 12th Strand; Day Number 15
Now Playing: Believe inna Flying Reindeers

As you know, Maman and I read Noospapers on-line every morning. I sit on her lap and Maman oppyrates the 'puter. It's more of Whut We Do.

And when I see sumFing inner'resting, I allus make sure to type about it in my Blog, so I can share it with Udders.

Yeah.

So this is Whut We Found today, inna Noospaper called The Telegraph (UK) Online Edition: Reindeer Really Can Fly!

And this, is Important.

Because Maman found MissyBun and me (George), digesting anudder'wunna of her Buks the udder day. For sum reason, this upsets her. It's not like there is a shortage of Buks in this Houz, like she is going to miss the few that Missy or I happen to digest. Besides, it is good to digest Buks because that is all part of Growing 'Tellygint, which is Whut Bunnies Do instead of Growing Old.

So I don't know why Maman gets all hextersized'bout Missy or me (George) digesting a Buk now and again - especially when she is the Wun Who Says that "EveryBunny should habba Buk at Chrissymiss" and who goes around adding even more Buks to the ones already heer. The whole "dek-dor" (as Maman says) of this place seems to depend on Buks, if you axt me, onna'count obba Fakt that they are Ebberywheres, 'specially lining the walls in Dadda's Office and Maman's Study.

I mean, a bunny can hardly move wiffout habbin' to hop over Buks. If this were The Wild, then Buks would be rocks strewn all ober the ground, you know? Or fallen tree-trunks. They would be Obstickles to get around, or get ober, or move-outta-the-way!

But heer in Our Warren, Buks are to be digested, but it is sort of hard not to go reading the werds onna pages while you're digesting them, you know?

So ennyways, I was digesting a Buk called "Hogfather" by sum guy named Terry Pratchett. (Maman has a lotta Buks with his name on them.)

And in this Buk, the Anthropomorphic Personification named DEATH (by which I mean he issa protagonist, just so you know) suggests this Premise: Hoomins *need* fantasy.

And this is why: Hoomins believe in fings like Justice, Peace and Mercy - they believe that these things exist! - but if you grind down the Universe, and reduce everyFing in it to its constitute, smallest parts, and then strain those bits through the finest sieve, you will not find one atom, not one molecule of Justice, or Peace, or Kindness or Mercy! Just like you will not find Flying Reindeer. Yet these Fings are Really Real. And Hoomins believe in them. In fact, they need to believe in them, or else this issa Horrybul and Terrifying Werld of Darkness and Nightmares.

And Why Do Hoomins Believe?

Because they believe in the Small Miracles when they are children. They learn to believe in the Small Miracles like Reindeer That Fly, and "...Holly and Jolly and other things ending in 'olly'." so that later on, they can believe in the Big Miracles, like Justice, Peace and Mercy.

And I find this argumint to be preddy Troo frumma Lagomorphin Perspective, too. Bunnies have no Trubble in accepting that Whut We See is Not All That There Is. In fact, we are generally very certain, "That there are more things on Earth and in Heaven than we have ever dreamed or prayed for!"

And this Article inna Telegraph (UK) Online Edition just proves that we Bunnies are right: Believe inna Flying Reindeer, because they are Real. And if you Believe inna Flying Reindeer, then you can Believe inna Blogging Bunny (which would be me, George!) and then you can begin to believe inna greater realities of Chrissymass, inna Miracles of Peace, and Love, and Justice and the Mysteries of Faith, Hope and Mercy!

---------------- By George! 


Posted by Our Warren at 11:54 AM EST
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Friday, 14 December 2007
George's 12th Strand; Day Number 14
Now Playing: I let Maman type...

George is allowing me, his Maman, to type today. Thank you, George.

I just want to say that almost everything of value I've ever learned, I've learned from bunnies.

Maybe one of the more important lessons I've learned is about being Left Behind.

For the longest time, I thought being Left Behind was a very cruel trick Life played on hoomins. Beloved Bunnies would cross the Rainbow Bridge, or beloved hoomins, and I struggled - like so many other hoomins - to somehow "come to terms" with being Left Behind. It always felt unfair or just so very fundamentally wrong that some creatures would randomly cross the Rainbow Bridge while others of us would remain here with our whipping, severed strands of love, on the wrong side of an unnatural and alien divide.

Let's face it; no one likes to be Left Behind.

Imagine bunnies in a shelter. One day they are living just as they have since their rescue, in their little pens and habitats. Everything "today" is as it was the day before: the sun rises, clean water and pellets arrive; hay arrives, with play-time and nap-time, too. And then, one day, strangers arrive in the shelter, and they walk down the narrow lanes, looking at the bunnies, one after the other.

No bunny knows these hoomins. No bunny has ever seen them before. These strangers smell differently from anybun who has visited the shelter previously. There is an air of anxiety about them, perhaps, or an air of expectancy, or seeking - or some other "air" that marks them as "dif'frunt"; because bunnies can sense many things that we cannot, and they can give those things that they sense names for which we hoomins have no words.

And then imgaine that the strangers stop before a certain pen or habitat.

And the pen or habitat is opened, and a bunny is taken out.

And the bunny leaves the shelter in the company of strangers.

It is the miracle that we call "Adoption" that has taken place. A bunny in a shelter has been given a Second Chance. They are going to that wonderful, fabled place - a Forever Home!

And there is celebration! Break out the cilantro margaritas! A bunny is coming Home!

But...

For every bunny who is adopted into a Forever Home from a shelter, there are one or two bunnies who have Not Been Adopted. These are the bunnies who were Not Chosen. These are the bunnies who have been Left Behind.

And it must be hard for those who are Left Behind to celebrate for the one who has been chosen to leave the Shelter for their new Forever Home. Perhaps the hearts of the dear, sweet Left-Behind-Bunnies are broken, precisely *because* they have been Left Behind. After all, they were the ones not chosen, the doors to their habitats were not opened; their prisons were not broken open nor were their little lives saved. How that must hurt!

Because there they sit in their sad little pens and watch as another bunny is liberated, picked up, cherished and taken away to some invisible "Forever Home" - and there they remain in the Shelter, Left Behind, with only the comfort of each other to tide them over the advancing night. They are not OnAlone or distressed, and they are not in danger,  but they are not going to the Forever Home, either. They are *There*, where they were in the morning, with their clean water, their pellets and their hay. The shelter-workers still love them, but it is not the same. Things are not as they were. One is gone and the others are Left Behind.

And the one who *is* chosen means no harm or sadness to come upon those who were not chosen, who remain Left Behind. The one who was chosen exercised no choice over their choosing - but because that little one *is* chosen, they no longer can influence those who are not. The chosen one cannot help or explain or give comfort to those who were not chosen. The shelter is one place, and the Forever Home is *some place else*. Whatever ties were between them are unalterably cut. There is no reason this has happened, but it has. It is Fact.

Yet the Hope of Forever Home remains alive for each shelter bunny. It shines like stars in their eyes that can never grow dim. Hope sustains the souls of bunnies - the hope of a treat, the hope of salad, the trust in Love, the faith in Forever.

As are those dear bunnies, so are we. This place is our "shelter", while those whom we perceive as having died have crossed to the Forever Home. We believe that we will be adopted and taken there someday, too - that is our hope and cherished belief. The bunnies are our inspiration to retain such a hope. They live in eternal hope, always trusting, always believing. They, who were never Cast Out of Eden or suffered from the Sin of Adam, perhaps know some things that we do not. And so it is in the bunnies' constant hope in those things that are currently unseen (which is the definition of faith), that I find the inspiration for my own faith in Christianity.

At least that's what I have learned from bunnies about being Left Behind. In fact, everything I might claim to know, I think God has taught me through bunnies. I've had trouble explaining this in seminary classes, but it's still the truth as I understand it. 

And I would go further and suggest that God made bunnies capable of teaching us hoomins lots of things, but we have to first be willing to stop, listen and to admit that, no matter how *advanced* we think we've become as a species, we'll never be able to see more than "through a mirror, darkly", while those whom we account to be less than we, may account for far more in God's Creation than we can imagine.

God has blessed me to be Maman to Our Warren, but Our Warren has blessed me with the most profound lessons in faith - and I thank God daily for the blessing of bunnies!  And, most especially, for those dear, wise, patient bunnies who have been entrusted to my care!

For Our dear sister, Ashley Mort and her family at Bunny Haven.

------------------------------------------By (a thankful) Maman


Posted by Our Warren at 6:15 PM EST
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Saturday, 17 November 2007
George's 11th Strand; Day Number 17
Now Playing: Fanks Gibbin'

Well, Maman told us it's coming up on the hoomin hollyday of Fanks Gibbin. She says that on This Day, hoomins who live more or less *here* are sus'posed to wake up, go watch a Parade, see Santa Claus, then have a Special Feast.

She says most of the HollyDay's Festivities vary slightly, according to each hoomin's Family Lore. Like some don't inklood enny "shopping" and some have different sorts of foods at their Feasts, and some have one kind of Treats and some have Udders, and *stuff* like that. And alla this is passed down to each hoomin according to their own Lore, which is how it should be.

Our Warren has Da Lore as it was told to me, George, by meHunny, *Senior Bun* of Our Warren, and every udder warren has their own Lore that is slightly different, but mainly the same in the Matter of Big Things because we are all HouseRabbits. Wild cottontail Bunnies have their Own Lore, too, which is the Lore of the Cottontails and different from that of HouseRabbits

Ennyways, Maman got her Lore assa Little Child, and she has been feeling that she has to Pass On Her Lore, and so she has passed *some* of it to me. Afta the manner of HouseRabbits, I am passing it on to you.

Maman's Family is Very Old and has a Lotta Lore going back about three-hunnert years - and that's not inklooding When They Lived In Inkland. But they weren't around for the Furst Fanks Gibbin, because they weren't PilGrims (Maman said her family, although it was pretty grim, wasn't grim enough to be PilGrims. They were Welsh, prob'ly doing what today would be called "Sekurity" which means fighting and such) and their ship wasn't called the "Mayflower" (It was called the "Welcome") and it didn't land at Plymouth Rock (It landed in Phillydelphia). So Maman's family mainly missed having the Very Furst Fanks Gibbin, but Maman says they prob'ly would't have been invited ennyways onna'count obba Fakt that they weren't the most serious of the arrivals and going to Church prob'ly wasn't high on their List Of Priorities.

But ennyways, Maman says that by the time her Mother's Family and her Father's Family got around to her, Fanks Gibbin' mainly settled out This Way:

As soon as school let out, her Mother and Father would put her and their Dawg inna car and drive alla way down to Wilmington Delaware to her Aunt Margaret's and Unkul George's House. Their house was pretty much slightly South of where her Mother's Family had set up their Furst Warren, three hunnert years ago, and hadn't moved away from much, since. Like wild cottontails, they didn't seem to believe in moving far away from the Original Warren. Maman's Grandmother and Uncle lived in Delaware County, Pennsylvania, and one of Maman's uncles lived in West Chester, and one lived in Holly Oak, Delaware, and another also lived near to Chadd's Ford in Delaware County

So on Fanks Gibbin Day, Everybun more or less turned up at Aunt Margaret's.

And Maman's Aunt Margaret didn't have enny children of her own, so she sort of *claimed* Maman (which sort of ticked off Maman's Mother) - and Maman and Aunt Margaret were very much alike. Aunt Margaret was a teacher and had a graduate degree and alla that, and loved books and took Maman everywheres with her when she could. And Aunt Margaret was very tall and proper and made sure that Maman had preddy dresses and matching handbags, gloves, hats and shoes, just like her. And a silk dressing-gown.

Maman says that every little hoomin girl should have a silk dressing gown if she wants one.

So on Fanks Gibbin Day, Aunt Margaret would take Maman with her to her Church. Maman's Father (who was Our Warren's Bim) would go too. then everybun would Go Fora Ride Inna Car to see the Parade in Wilmington.

And just to show you that Students Go Everywheres...

One year, Maman, her Mother, Her Dadda (Our Bim), Aunt Margaret and her husBun, Unkul George, were all watching the Parade go past the Hotel DuPont, when suddenly, some men onna back-end of a fire-truck began waving their hats and yelling,

"Doc! Hey Doc! Over here! Doc!"

And noBun could figure out at *whom* these guys were all yelling.

And then here came the men, dashing through the crowd of hoomins on the street. It was three men who had been Students of Our Bim's at the Teacher's College, who had become firemen in Wilmington Delaware! They had recognised Our Bim standing in the crowd and wanted to come and say "Hello" - so they had gotten off of their fire-truck and run back, three whole city blocks! Just to say "Hi". 

Of course, Maman says Our Bim couldn't bemember their names after shaking hands with them and axting how they were doing and hearing about their lives in Delaware. But that was Normal-for-Bim - he allus had trouble bemembering his Students' names when they were in his class, let alone once they had graduated!

So Maman says Professors and Teachers have to beware - kids are like rats onna ship - allus Out There, ready to jump out at you when you're least expecting it.

Ennyways, at the very End of the Parade, there was allus Santa Claus inna sleigh with eight reindeer. Maman says this is because Fanks Gibbin issa Beginning of Christmas - and Santa Claus allus arrives inna Phillydelphia Area on Fanks Gibbin, according to her Family's Lore.

Of course, she didn't know Back Then When She Was Liddle that Santa Claus was also arriving at every other store in every other city in the United States, too. She just knew that he was arriving in Wilmington on Fanks Gibbin Day and would drive up to Phillydelphia to be in Wanamaker's when her Mother and Father took her there to see him.

In her mind, Santa Claus took the train, just like everyBunny else.

So afta the Parade, Aunt Margaret, Unkul George, Maman's Father and Mother and Maman would go into the Hotel DuPont and have Fanks Gibbin Dinner. And it was allus shrimp cocktail, then some kind of creamed soup that she would eat because it was impolite not to, and then turkey with stuffing with chestnuts, mashed potatoes, candied yams, whole string beans, peas and diced carrots,  creamed onions, and cranberry sauce. Tomato aspic figured in it somewhere. And then there was allus ice cream and assorted pie, or coconut or German Chocolate cake for dessert. Maman says that Rice Pudding (or as she says, "maggots in cream sauce") could also happen.

Maman bemembers alla this because she has learned how to make most of these things, except the tomato aspic. She said she's never quite seen the use for aspic, in general, except as another way of getting the silverware messy.

And then Alla Them Togedder would leave the Hotel DuPont and get inna car to go and Visit Aunts, Unkuls and Cousins, and eat cold turkey sandwhiches on Raisin Bread (the making of which was anudder part of the Family Lore). Aunt Anne served Pepsi, which was something Maman (who grew up in a Coca-Cola house) never drank ennywhere's else. And everyBun ate Charles' Chips frumma can.

Then the Nextest Day, everyBunny woke up early and went to the Train Station in Claymont and caught the train to Phillydelphia. And everyBun went to Wanamaker's Department Store and solemly swore to Meet Unner the Eagle at Noon. That was the Pact: everyBun would meet Unner the Eagle at Noon. No matter Whut.

And Maman says that this is Her Lore, and she is passing it on to me, George.

Now HouseRabbits don't have Fanks Gibbin as part of Da Lore. We don't need a Hollyday to be reminded to say "Thank You" for having a home, and food, and sumBun to love us.

Some of us come from Shelters. Some of us have been rescued from Bad Places. Some of us have been Abused. Many of us have gone for days and days being sad, terrified and OnAlone with noBun to care for and noBun to care for Us.

So for Alla Us Togedder every day is a day full of Thanks Giving.

And this is Our Lore, as it was told to me, George, by meHunny *Senior Bun* of Our Warren:

Hoppy Thanks Giving Day, Every Day to Every Bun!

--------------------------------- By George


Posted by Our Warren at 2:10 PM EST
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Friday, 16 November 2007
George's 11th Strand; Day Number 16
Now Playing: Wow! Complymints!

Whoa!

You won't believe this. I almost didn't, but here you are: Click on *this* and have a look! It's from today's Philly.com, on-line edition, in an article called "Bringing Back Sexy" by Karen Heller! Yeah! She mentions lots of hoomins she thinks are "sexy" and then she says, "And, as always, George. But that's just our opinion.

Wow!

George! That's My Name!

Well, I know that I can do My Cute. Maman says that I do My Cute really, really well. And then, of course, when I'm doing My Cute, I allus get Baby Organic Carrots or sumfing tasty like that - I even have gotten a bite of Spice Cookie when I've done My Cute, so you know that My Cute is pretty 'peshul! - but I haven't been called "sexy" by enny hoomins...

Until Now.

And it is nice to hear.

It is always nice to get Complymints!

And the Fing about Comlymints is that they are a Renewable Resource, you know? It's not like there are only so many to go around and we have to Conserve them so that they don't Run Out. We can give away as menny of them as we want, and there are still MORE of them to go around!

Yeah!

Complymints are like that. They just keep coming so we can keep on giving them away.

So there is no pressing need to *not* give them to udders, you know? Like it is hokay for me to  turn to MissyBun and say, "You are My Beautiful Bunny-Gurl of Gen'rus P'porshuns!" and she'll say, "Yeah. You gotta Baby Organic Carrot I don't know about?" and that makes us Both happy with just ONE Complymint!

Like Good Wishes, Complymints are just free and constantly renewing themselves so that they can be given away. Which is prob'ly why we should be giving them away - because if we don't, they will just keep multyplying until there are too many to be around in one place and then we'll have a sudden Burst of Good Will or sumfing.

Maman says she'd like to see that. 'Peshully in Philadelphia, which is the City in which she happins to have been borned. *I* have never been there, but she says that they have wunna the Best HouseRabbit Hospiddles inna Werld, which I don't want to ever go to, but I guess it's good to know. "No knowledge is ever wasted", meHunny *Senior Bun* of Our Warren once told me as part of Da Lore. So I am passing that information on to you. 

So since Complymints are so aBUNdant, I would urge you today to pass some on today. How about Now? Look over at that hoomin nextest to you - there must be sumfing about them that you can find nice to say to them. Go on, say sumfing nice! Give that Complymint away! Don't hold back! Anudder Complymint will come along right afta you give away that furst one! 

That Complymint in Ms Heller's Mirror Image blog made me happy enough to binky around a little and then to type this blog aboud'dit. Giving sumbun near you a Complymint will make you feel good, too and will help to make anudder hoomin or Bunny happy, too. Just seeing My Name, George, mentioned in anudder blog as being "sexy" (even if I am not sure what that is) is preddy cool. It sounds nice, so I will take it as a Complymint and put on My Cute.

So Thank You, Ms. Heller, for typing My Name inna Philly.com and I will continue to read your Mirror Image blog inna Wednesday Daily Magazine! You have good ideas about Popular Culture, and if it's enny help, I fink you shuld win that Pulitzer Prize fing for finking that HouseRabbits are worth mentioning!

Thank you! And please keep on sharing Complymints!

-------------------------- By George


Posted by Our Warren at 11:13 AM EST
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Wednesday, 7 November 2007
George's 11th Strand; Day Number 7
Now Playing: Basic Bunny Sense

Maman and I have been reading the noospapers like we always do and I have been sitting here onna footon, Finking, and finally, I just have to commint on summa the stuff I've read...

Yes, well, of course "Chefs are Chemists" and it's not "Food 2.0", it's just Common Sense! I hab no cloo why the New York Times would put an article in their noospaper and fink it is , you know, *Noos*. When you add "heat" to somefing, you are inna biznizz of initiating change atta molecular level. Whut, was ebberybunny who ever cooked a meal onna range mentally absent during high school science class? I don't believe I saw an article about this inna "serious" noospaper like the New York Times!

And then there was the List of the "10 Ridiculous Laws" in the Telegraph Online. Maman and I liked that article and Dadda laughed a good deal about nobun being permitted to die in the Houses of Parly-mint. He says that's howcome there are are so menny brain-dead hoomins still left walkin' around there - nobunny wants to admit they've broken the Law...

And then there was a lot of Election Noos in The Times of Trenton and The Trentonian, and Maman read that. Most of it didn't really innerest Missy and me because it had nothing to do with Where We Live. Our local noospapers mostly forget Ewing is onna map unless something bad happens. On the udder paw, Maman says that's the hoomins-who-live-here own faults for caring more about the unner-acheeve-mint of the township's sports teams than the quality of their children's academic education.

Whut she rilly said was that football is just an excuse to watch the Marching Band. Dadda said American football is nanny-state rugby. (And they both said udder hoomins wouldn't share their views.)

Alla Us Togedder have No Opinion. We have never seen football, only Da Dawg's ball and he has a whole blue baskit of them that he keeps trying to pursuade people to throw for him out inna BackGardin so he can bring them back. We have no idea why he does this, because it seems preddy Stoopit. I mean, why pester ebberybunny to throw a ball just so he can go rocketing afta it and bring it back to do it again?

And Maman has given each of Us Bunnies some balls with bells inside for us to push around in our habbytats. They're sort of fun for awhile and then they mostly just get InnaWay. Then we pick them up and toss them aside and Maman tells us how good we are, because she finks we're Playing.

I hate to tell her, but we're not Playing with the Stoopit Balls: we're getting them Outta The Way of more Serious Stuff, like lettuce.

Hoomins just don't get it, you know? I mean, like when Missy hops around the edges of a room. That's not Missy doing her "Cute" or "Hextploring", that's Missy making sure the boundaries of the room are Safe. She's checking for Intruders, Clearing Vines and Obstacles, Marking Exits - in short, doing Whut Bunnies Do. And we Do It to stay Safe.

We do Our Cute to get treats, but we do a whole lotta Udder Stuff because we've been Prey for a Very Long Time and have Learned To Stay Safe by doing stuff like Marking Exits, Clearing Vines, and making sure that Intruders haven't sneaked in or invaded a room while we weren't in it to Defend Our Teritorry. We snip vines so we don't trip when we run, and if there are 'puter cords or wires inna way, we'll snip those, too. It's called Being Safe.

We aren't doing it to Amuse Hoomins.

And we don't usually mess with balls, even if they have bells-in. You know, Mouse sed that he saw some bunny onna tellyvision while he was waiting for "Law & Order" to come on, and this hoomin was pushing a big plastic ball at his houserabbit. And here was this lovely miniLop, sitting happily in loaf position and this ball rolls up. So the bunny stands up and lunges and - BAM - the ball rolls back to his hoomin. So the hoomin rolls the ball back toda bunny. Anna bunny lunges atta ball and - BAM - back goes the ball toda hoomin. 

So whut does da hoomin do? Pushes da ball back towards the bunny! And you can see that the bunny is there, like, "Hokay, Stoopit, bring it!" and, sure enuf, da hoomin pushes da ball back atta bunny anna bunny lunges atta ball and sends it sailing back atta hoomin and hits him inna hed.

Anna'nouncer goes, "David Beckham, eat your heart out!"

And as Mouse sed, "The only good fings going for that bunny are that he issa Housebunny wif lotsa toys and fresh veggies lying around for him wif hay and stuff, and he doesn't appear to be inflicted with enny Victorias."

But you know, this is just Basic Bunny Sense... and some people call Us "dumb bunnies".... geez...they really need to have a look inside their inner back gardins...

-------------------------------- By George


Posted by Our Warren at 1:12 PM EST
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Tuesday, 6 November 2007
George's 11th Strand; Day Number 6
Now Playing: Exter-size Your Voice - VOTE

Hey You! Today is Election Day in Noo Joisey!

Bemember to get out there and exter-size your Right to choose...

EVERYBUNNY VOTE!

---------------- By George 


Posted by Our Warren at 7:55 AM EST
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Monday, 5 November 2007
George's 11th Strand; Day Number 5
Now Playing: Intellectual Trubble Again

Hmmm. I see a whole lotta Trubble on the way wif this Bizness of "Science" trying to explain the existence of God.

Sorry, but it's just How I See It.

Now, onna'count obba Fakt that everyBun who dips even a toe innu enny controversial Hoomin subjekts (but es'pecially ones like Philosophy or Science!) hasta state their Quallyfykayshuns, I will state mine: I amma fairly reasonable HouseRabbit who is Growning 'Tellygint inna house packed fulla hoomins wif  alla these higher degrees in subjekts like Organic Chemistry, Music History, Mechanical Engineering and Computer Engineering and Christian Apologetics, and I have personally digested Books on alla these subjekts, as per instrukshuns frum Belinda Bunny. former TopBun of Our Warren and I was taught Da Lore by meHunny, Senior Bun of Our Warren

So that's it, and it's enuf to make a respectable entry onna Inside Back Cover obba regular book dustjacket, which is the main reason why I fink Hoomins state their Quallyfykayshuns inna Furst Place.  

Ennyways...

I notice that there is a lotta literary ink being spilled by Hoomins trying to use "Science" to "prove" that there is no God.

I think this is Stoopit onna'count obba Fakt that this is a misuse of "Science" inna Furst Instance.

I mean, whut is "Science"?

As far as I can figger out, it is Wun Ob Those Things that Hoomins more or less cobbled togedder over Time to investigate their Universe. Before they had Science, they preddy much had Myths and Legends to explain alla Mysteries and Co-incidences that surrounded them. They assumed that "God" as other Hoomins defined Him was causing alla stuff that happined to them inna Natural World - but as Hoomin Technology improved and Hoomins invented better tools to investigate and observe the Natural World around them, they began to find that they could explain the stuff that was happening to them in ways that didn't inklood God the way He had been previously explained through Hoomin Myths and Legends.

And this was about the time that Hoomins identify as The Age of Enlightenment, which is a preddy Important Time in Hoomin development, just as the foundation of HouseRabbits with improved communikayshuns, and the foundayshun of Lagomorphin assa written Language and all, is for Bunnies. (You gotta unnerstand that every species has it own Ages. Hoomins aren't "It" in the Species Departmint, even though some of them like to believe that.)

So Ennyways, there was the Age of Enlightenment and Hoomins got around to writing down "The Scientific Method". And this was important because it defined "Whut Science Could Do" - mainly, look at the World and try to explain God's Rules and Regulations for running it, and how to Improve Hoomins' Unnerstanding of God's Universe that was around them. At no time was  "The Scientific Method" stretched to inklood a Definition of God - because that would be absurd: God existed quite outside, inside and alla'round "Science". "Science" was made for and by Hoomins to try and get a handle on whut God all ready knew, which was EbberyFing.

Therefore, inna process of getting a handle on EbberyFing, Hoomins began dividing up Whut They Saw - and they managed to round up Seven Liberal Arts and Sciences. They had to stretch their minds back to Hoomins Who Had Lived Before Them (that is, into their Hoomin Lore), which is quite right and proper, in order to do this. So they remembered how the Roman Empire went about teaching, and how people were taught inna "Middle Ages" and they teased out threads about how the subjects of Music could be related to Mathematics and how the various "ologies" (that means "studies of") were all related to each other, and they made lists of "same" and "not the same", and demonstrated over and over by way of experiments that their theories followed on logically (and this Logic was discovered by Ancient Greeks), one after the other.

And so by degrees, "Science" got more specific, and each of the specifics of Science acquired more information as Hoomins observed more and more about the World and the Universe around them.

But whole Lots of Scientists who studied the various "ologies" still believed in God. And the confident belief in God (which is defined as "faith") is not at all inconsistent with a life spent working on Science. As Our Bim (who had the degrees in sumFing called Organic Chemistry and was called "Doc" by his students) used to say, "It is the job of Science to inquire into the mind of the Creator, not to inquire whether or not He creates."

Alternatively, as Maman said to me the other day while she was foraging for "Whut's For Dinner" inna 'Friggerator ("Whut's For Dinner", she says, issa Great Quest of all Hoomin-kind - every hoomin forages),

Ennyways, whut she said is, "Science is geared to look at Creation not the Creator."

So I axted her, "So whut looks for the Creator?"

And she said (wif her hed stuck deep inna third shelf frumma top), "Philosophy." 

So I hadda Fink and then proposed, "So Hoomin Science axts 'How?' and Hoomin Philosophy axts 'Why?'.”

And by then Maman had come up wif a bag ob Baby Organic Carrots anna'nudder bag ob Potatoes. And she looked back at me frum unner'neaf ob her arm and sed,

"Preddy much. One thing isn't the other. Using Science to try to explain whether God exists is sort of like trying to use a screwdriver to pound a nail: it probably can be done, but never well enough for the nail to hold up a building. You have to use the right tools for the right job: Science for Creation and Philosophy for the Creator, and even then, Hoomin understanding remains limited. We've only scratched the surface of understanding either discipline. Even our questions lack sophistication."

And she set the bags of Baby Organic Carrots and Potatoes onna'top of Missy and my habbytat and dove back innu the Friggerator.

So I stood up and hadda sniff atta bags, but I'm not much on chewing plastic, even to get at a Baby Organic Carrot. Besides, I preddy much know I can get Baby Organic Carrots for Alla Us Togedder if I start doing my Cute, so I sat down in my Finking Spot again and watched her go on Foraging.

And I said, "So Howcome alla these hoomins are upset over this "'Tellygint Design" ishoo and "Darwinism" ishoo, and there is alla this writing that is unfriendly to Christians in p'tikular and to religion in general?"

And Maman replied, "Onna'count obba Fakt that hoomins are mostly stoopit. Easily confused. Intellectually Lazy. Let's say by way of example that it is easier for most people to blame the modern concept of 'religion' as the cause of The Crusades than it is to take courses about, say, the Medieval mind-set, Feudal economics, Western concepts of nation-building and king-ship, Arab expansionism, the rise of agrarian technology from the X to XII centuries, and hoomin migration patterns during the Middle Ages. Because you need those courses and a bunch of others from the Dissolution of the Roman Empire to the Rise of Christianity and Formation of the Muslim Faith just to begin to wrap your mind around The Crusades.

"It's much easier to say, well, 'The Crusades' were all the fault of Religion.' And then it is a very easy jump to say 'If we had no Religion, we'd have no wars, and if we had no God, we'd have no Religion. So let's have no God.'  And they turn to the one thing that provides a king of 'proof' that no God exists - only, as we just said, you can't really use a screwdriver to pound a nail; Science isn't the tool to prove or disprove the existence of God." 

And I said, "That's Philosophy, and that's a Whole 'Nuther Bunny." 

 

And Maman, with her head still inside the Friggerator, agreed.

Then she pulled herself outta the Friggerator and she hadda completely full  bag of Williamsburg Heritage Italian Parsley that Dadda had managed to salvage before the Big Frost arrived the Other Night. And Maman had gathered alla parsley togedder, trimmed it, washed it, spun it dry and packed it away inside of plastic bags and stuffed it away in the back of the Third Shelf of the Friggerator just for Us Bunnies. And she opened the bag and began handing it out.

And she said, "No offence to You Buggers, but there's Chikin Stew for Dinner." and said we didn't care because we've become used to it, and then she went on, to me: "You and I will continue not Growing Old, George and just  try to Grow 'Tellygint."

And I axted her, "Howcome?" around my mouthful of parsley.

And Maman shrugged. "I guess because it's Whut We Do. Maybe because We Don't Know Whut Else To Do. There is a branch of Science that's called Biology that has a branch that's called Medicine that has a sort of bud that has two twigs coming out of it; one twig called Neurology and the other called Psychiatry, and then there's another sort of twig there called Psychology and another called Anthropology that might or might not be attached to the others in any way at all - but none of those "ologies" can adequately explain Why We Do Whut We Do. We have a specialised sort of Intellect - every hoomin does - and it makes each Hoomin unique. We still can't define it, or measure it properly, or totally explain how we got it or how it works, or even if it survives the biological bodies it inhabits. We know it is there, and we sense that it also exists in others besides ourselves..."

"Like in bunnies, too." I added in for her.

"Like in bunnies and every other living creature, as well." She agreed. "We call that whatever-it-is 'Life'. We know how to take that 'life' out of a biological body, and if a hoomin removes it from another biological body on purpose, we know innately that this is wrong and we call that 'murder', so it follows that the gift of this whatever-it-is-called-Life is somehow good and we know that we can't give it. We can draw a flower, or sculpt a flower, or make an image of a flower, or even clone a flower from a cell in a Petri dish, but we can't actually make a flower from scratch and make it 'alive'. We can put something of the hoomin artist into it, but that still doesn't meet the criteria to make it 'alive'. So the whatever-it-is-called-Life that makes us, Us remains elusive, beyond our hoomin knowledge. Maybe someday Science will be able to define What Makes Do Whut We Do, but in a discipline that depends upon Logic for its existence, it is Logical to posit that life comes from Life than to argue the opposite." 

"And Philosophy?" I axt.

"Well, maybe someday Philosophy will tell us Why We bother to Do Whut We Do." Said Maman. 

"Yeah. Or mebbe Why God bothers with Hoomins at all. Bunnies were never seperated frum Him inna Furst Instance."

"Uh huh." Said Maman, pulling opin the Friggerator door again and stuffing the Williamsburg Heritage Italian Parsley back inside. Then she closed the door and leaned against it. "Just remember to Whom He Gave the Opposable Thumbs in the Furst Instance."

Yeah, well... 

 ---------------------------- By George

 


Posted by Our Warren at 9:29 AM EST
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Sunday, 4 November 2007
George's 11th Strand; Day Number 4
Now Playing: Time Shift

Lastest Nite heer at Our Warren, we watched Maman and Dadda observe the Beginning ob The Turning Back ob Time!

It began with Cokie-the-Fat-Cat inna Kitchen. He came Downnastairs frum his 'Partmint atta Ushual Time and started getting bizzy poking his paws innu the laundry baskit and complaining OutLoud.

Anna Dawg was sota standing ober him, supervising. This is their way of 'Tracting'Tenshion while they're waiting around for Maman and Dadda to Start Feeding Time - which gen'rally coincides wif Our Salad Time, which issa Most 'Portant Time obba day. Gen'rally speaking...

So Maman heard Cokie making noise and saw Da Dawg standing over him and she came outta the Sitting Room to see Whut'sUp. And she said to Dadda,

"Whut's up with the Dawg? I don't like it when he sits over the Cat like that. It looks like he's plotting."

And then Dadda came outta the SittingRoom and stood ober Cokie and sorta gave him a prod-inna-butt wif his toe and said, "He wants feeding, I think."

And Cokie looked up, took an idle swipe atta Dawg and agreed wif Dadda, gen'rally speakin'...

So Dusty was out heer inna Bun Room, and he heard Maman and Dadda talking and started doing binkies to get their 'Tenshion. That's Dusty for you - he allus has to get 'Tenshion.

So Maman sorta wandered in through the Kitchen to see whut's up with Dusty onna'count obba Fakt he was making alla this noise, and she said over her shoulder to Dadda,

"Tell the Cat he's outta luck: it's too early for him to get fed."

And Dadda proded Cokie a little more, kinda thoughtful-like, and axted Maman, "Why is that? It's ten o'clock. I should take These Buggers Upstairs and give them their dinners."

And Maman reached in and started petting Dusty in his habbytat, to get him to Quiet Down. This is sorta like the beginning of Wun ob Auntie Grace's Goat-Ropes, or else the Continuation of sum Endless Projeckt: Petting Dusty is like eating peanuts, Maman says: once you begin, you can't stop. 

And Maman said to Dadda,

"Lookit, tonight is the night that we get turn the clocks back an hour to get rid of 'Daylight Savings Time'. That means that even if the clock says ten o'clock tonight, tomorrow it's going to say nine o'clock at this same time, but the Cat won't know it and he'll be yelling for dinner an hour early. It's best if we save time and get him used to the idea now instead of later."

So Dadda finked this over fora minit, and said to Maman, "You know that Cokie can't tell time."

And Maman (who was still petting Dusty) nodded and said, "That's what I'm talking about: catz can't tell time. So we have to do it for them."

And Cokie, who was lying on the floor suddenly sat up, looked back at Us Bunnies and growled, "Whaaat?"

But Maman kept going: "The fing is that the Cat will be yelling for his dinner an hour early tomorrow. And you know how insistant Cokie can be, Brian. Especially when he thinks he's being hard-done-by."

"He allus thinks he's being hard-done-by." Said Dadda.

And Cokie said, "Cos I aaaaam!"

And Maman sort of ignored Cokie because she was talking to Dadda while still petting Dusty inna absent-minded sort of way,

"Exactly. So the thing to do is not to feed him now, even though the clock says that it's ten o'clock which is his feeding time, because it's really nine o'clock which is an hour too early. Time is only an invention of mankind to measure their linier passage through the universe. It is illusionary and I'm not going to have Cokie trying to impose any illusionary constraints on our decision-making processes."

And Mouse looked over at me and saed whut everyBun of us was thinking, inklooding Dadda, (but probably not Cokie who had just rolled ober on his back and was waving all four ob his paws inna air, and not Dusty eidder, who had preddy much fallen asleep frum being petted) which was somefing onna order of,

"Oh pooties! Heer she goes again!"

Because as Dadda has pointed out menny times bifore, Maman could happily sit on the Rim Ob Hell and exchange opinions about the Probable Maximim Number of Dancing Angels Permitted to Occupy the Head of a Standard Pin.

She's just like that. But it means that Salad Time is gonna be delayed. By Lots.

And MissyBun, who was occupying the High Ground looked over and said to me,

"George! Do sumFing!" 

So I hadda Quick Fink, and suddenly, I called Da Dawg. It's easy enough to do - just *thump* and he comes waggin' ober to see Whut'samatta.

So we went nose-to-nose and I'm wike, "Whut aboutdda Patrol?"

Anna Dawg looked atta Back Door and his ears went Up, and he started doing his "Crossed Paws" Dance, which is preddy hard to ignore since it takes up most obba space between Missy's and my habbytat anna WashingMachine. And it involves alla dawgie-toenails on alla his four feets tappin' onna lin-o-le-um all at oncest, like a bucket ob castanets fallin' downnastairs.

So the noise obba Dawg toenails drew Cokie da Fat-Cat to come see Whut'sUp (because there might be Food involved!), only he was shamblin' atta pretty good clip and hadda sorta slllliiiiiiide to a stop, preddy much unner'neaf obba Dawg.

And Maman (whom he hadda pass on his sllllliiiide down the floor) flared up at him and yelled, "Cokie! You know 'No Catz Inna Bun Room'!"

And she sort ob stopped petting Dusty for a minit, and closed his habbytat lid.

So Dusty, who wasn't getting petting at just *that* sekond, waked up from his pet-induced trance and suddenly began to binky-binky-binky-hop around his habbytat inna circle. Which made ebberyfing in his habbytat bounce and bang right along wif him.

So there we had the pile-up in front obba Back door, wiffa Cokie-Cat swearing atta Dawg, and we hadda Dawg trying to get away frumma Cokie-Cat so Maman couldn't accuse him ob Starting Ennyfing, and we had Dusty bouncing and banging ebberyfing in his habbytat around like a tinker's bag ob pots and pans.

And MissyBun bounced outta the pootie-pan (giving me a momint ob zero-gravity) and hopped over to me and said, "Well, she isn't arguing 'bout Time ennymore, but we're not getting Salad, either."

And I'm, wike, "Wookit, wike Dadda says, I can't work wonders and poop miracles!"

And Dadda came innu da BunRoom, wooked in and said to Dusty, "Calm down, sunshine, before I introduce you to the concept of 'stew'."

And Dusty was too bizzy doin' his "Notice Me!" dance to notice Dadda, so Mouse yelled ober to him, "Cut the racket, Junior!"

And Dusty froze for a minit, and then periscoped, wooking ober at Maman and whuffled the air. And down inna Hospiddle Cage (cos she *still* isn't bonded to Mouse) Foxie stuck her nose out and made a nibble for Dadda's shoelace.

And for justa sekond there was silence inna BunRoom.

And then Maman said to Dadda, "And we're gonna go through this every night an hour earlier from now on inless we start teaching them the concept of 'one hour later'."

And Dadda shook his head and opined the Big White Box Where The Green Grow; and he took out nice plastic bags of fresh-frumma-market Romaine, and flat parsley and curly parsley and Baby Organic Carrots and wun-by-wun he gave them to Maman to hold. And then he took out tins of Dawg food and Cat food and he and Maman traipsed back innu the Kitchen.

And oncest they were there, and Maman was laying outta leebs to make Romaine Cups for Us Bunnies, and Dadda was loading uppa FoodBowls, Dadda said to her,

"Not tonight, Sweetheart. While it's easy to waste time, and lose time, and take time, and find time and even warp time, it takes a lot more effort to shift time. So let's  cross that bridge when we come to it - around ten o'clock tomorrow night."

---------------------- By George!


Posted by Our Warren at 11:46 AM EDT
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Thursday, 25 October 2007
George's 10th Strand; Day Number 25
Now Playing: Local Pollyticks

Well, today Maman and I have read a lot of blogs about Where We Live heer at Our Warren. There is a inneresting bridge a ways away frum heer (downna River) of which a lotta hoomins take photographs (ironic or udderwise) that spells out "Trenton Makes - The World Takes" in big neon letters. Some clever Noospaper Reporters take the name of their personal blog frum it.

So ennyways...

We live inna little place called *Ewing* which usta habba Mayor who did a lotta whut Maman says were Not Good Fings and he got dis-elected - that is, booted outta office. He was replaced by Jack Ball.

Now Jack issa preddy Good Guy. He hassa Dawg, which issa good fing. He is neighbourly. He can talk to udder people. He is kind to animals. He is honest. In short, Jack Ball is not some money-grubbin', secretive, opportunistic, self-seekin' career-pollytician only innerested in lining his own pockets atta expense obba tax-payers.

And Jack didn't push through building contracts for unwanted malls, light industrial office parks and senior centres even the Seniors didn't want, and he won't despoil the last of the township's greenland in back-room, unner-handed deals the people of the Township don't get to vote against. 

So we LIKE Jack around heer!

And we'd like to see the Township Committee stop stonewallin' him ebbery chance they get. So whut if they aren't on the same political party as he is? Loyal Toda Pawtee or Loyal to the People Who ElectedYou - which is morally correct?

We'd also like to see The College of Noo Joisey get off their high-horse: they will "never be enny better than they ought to be" (as the saying goes). I hear udder hoomins asking alla time, "Who decided College rent-a-cops were rilly "police" and could threaten township residents off of the campus?" Maman says the phrase "jumped-up" comes to mind.

Of course, Maman can remember when the campus of "Trenton State Teachers' College" (which is whut they were) was open to the members of the township drive around, and walk through and enjoy just like the students. She remembers when the college *asked* for the Township community's help to house their students. She remembers when alumni were treated with respect, not suspicion.

And now, The College of Neoo Joisey (like it is the only college in Noo Joisey!) is closed to the whole township, and has its silly rent-a-militia (with firearms), and vivid light-pollution, like it is someplace special on the planet, above and apart from the community!

Maman also remembers when the Rescue Squad would have been happy to get a new member and moved quickly to integrate him/her into to a crew. But that was back in the day when the siren blew and volunteers had the admiration of everybun in the township - and people who were generous with their time and courage didn't have to wait upon the Township Committee's letters of acceptance. Can the Township Committe afford to be so slow, and so tight with funding that they can't approve a new member, and can't pass a budget for bandages?.

And where is a pleasant Shelter for Lost and Stray Animals in the township? There is a building with huge potential as a shelter on Ingram Avenue, but it isn't developed. The Township Committee (again) says there is no money to develop it, but we pay high taxes (with a low-expectation school sysytem) and have very taxable businesses in the area (if you listen to the braggarts of the Olden Avenue Development crew) - so why is there no money to build a safe, no-kill shelter for animals? Why are only dogs and cats given shelter? Our Warren has tried to donate bunny-related care items, only to be told, "We don't have rabbits."

And why can the Township not adopt a Trap-Neuter-Release Program for feral kitties? The funds were made available, the organisation is there, but again, the Township Committee drags their feet. Howcome?

Jack is a GOOD Mayor. He is animal-friendly. He has a dog. We DON'T believe Jack would turn away a bunny OnAlone.

Whut we DO believe is that Jack and all the other good people in Ewing (some of whom volunteer to save lives!) are being ham-strung by a bunch of self-important, self-seeking career pollyticians from the Township Committee on Up.

And it has to stop.

Maman says that people get the government that they deserve - so come November, we are urging EVERYbun in Ewing who can, GET OUT AND VOTE! - because only voters can change the way things are run in their area.

People get the government that they deserve - and Ewing deserves a better Township Committee! We have a GOOD Mayor - let's give him some GOOD support!

---------------------- By George

 


Posted by Our Warren at 5:18 PM EDT
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Tuesday, 23 October 2007
George's 10th Strand; Day Number 23
Now Playing: Sending Prayers & Vibes in Times of Danger

Today Our Warren is saying Prayers and Ear-flapping *Vibes* for alla bunnies who are in Danger frumma wildfires in Southern California.

God be Wif You.

We are rubbing alla our Lucky Rabbits' Feets for the safety ob alla Our Friends and Relayshuns who have packed up their cars, got stuffed in their carriers, and are being Evacuated - Sundae and Beezer, Pogo & Kit-Kat, and alla Ashyville, anna San Diego House Rabbit Society, Ruthie, and Auntie Marisa's bunnies.

God go wif you!

And we are praying wif those who watch and wait, who smell smoke onna wind and know that there is Fire nearby but who are not in danger - Norman, Ragin' Riley and Little Urchin (we are so glad you found Auntie Carla!) and Gabriel and Maggie and Buttons and LuckyHoney-Dawg anna Krasi-kitties!

God be wif alla you! 

We are praying for alla critters who are out there OnAlone, running for their lives frumma towering flames.

God proteckt you.

We are urging alla Hoomins, please, leave noBunny behind! Those whom you have tamed are part of you, and you must not turn your backs on them. Their fate is bound up wif your own! *Things* can be replaced, but life is not hoomanity's to grant or to withhold.

God sees and God hears; no cry goes up toward Heaven in vain.

And we, heer at Our Warren, are sending out Special Prayers for alla brave fire-fighters and EMTs who rush toward danger and do not run away frum helping others.

God hold them in His hand.

And we are ear-flapping and vibing for alla pilots and air-crews who fly the helicopters and airplanes (especially Our Unkul Toby!) who find their ways through blinding smoke and stinging ash and hurricane-force winds -  to drop huge bucket-koads of water on the fires burning high above the trees!

Yeah!

We pray for alla the Heroes of the Fire-Storm!

And thank God for everyWun of them!

And today we pray especially for alla those who are in Shelters, and alla those who seek Shelter...that each may find safety.

And please God, grant Your care and bless us, Alla Us Togedder, each and everyBun!

-----------------------By George 


Posted by Our Warren at 9:46 AM EDT
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Thursday, 4 October 2007
George's 10th Strand (2007); Day Number 4
Now Playing: Misunnerstanning

Whooboy! I read inna Noos today about Russian Hoomins who say "Nobunny unnerstans Our Country!" And then I read a bunch of commints frum anudder bunch of Hoomins frum Inkland who said, "That's hokay, nobunny unnerstans Our Country, eidder!" And then I read some more commints frum some MORE Hoomins who said, "Well, ebberyBunny shut up, onna'count obba Fakt that NONE OF YOU unnerstans ennyplace!"

And Maman said to me, "You know, George, when I lived in Lancashire, I met people who claimed to have 'seen' the United States because they had visited Disneyworld, and then when I came back here, I met a whole bunch of Americans who said they had 'seen' England because they'd taken the tour around London. And not one of them, from either side, had really seen either country. The British had seen an amusement park, and the Americans had seen another big city, but no one had actually seen anything like another country."

And she shook her head.

"Well,"  I told her. "We bunnies don't have this problem. Bunnies are bunnes, no matter where you go. Some of us have better lives, some of us are not so lucky."

And Maman said that the whole of Our Warren was very lucky, and so we must keep in mind not only to be thankful for where we have found ourselves, but also to Bemember those bunnies who are not as lucky as we are - like those poor Bunnies who are in Shelters, and those lost Bunnies who seek Shelters, and even those poor, OnAlone Bunnies in Horrible Places who dare to dream of Shelters in the depths of endless night.

She also told me about alla housebunnies in Queensland, who are misunnerstood to be pests when they are Companion Animals.

Never believe what "everybun" says; "Test for Truth", Maman says. She says bunnies have a lotta "Honesty" and "Integrity" that we are "Alla Us Togedder" and form "Soshul Hierarchies" based upon "Ability" and not upon "Who Has The Mostest" of Ennyfing.

Well, that is pretty much Troo. You don't get to be Top Bun if all you can do is leave pooties. That's pretty much a Hoomin Mistake in Finking.

Yes, we do have Pootie-Wars sometimes to 'Stablish who is Top Bun, but there is more to a Pootie-War than just pooties and more to sending P-mail than drinking wadder and leaving puddles. These are just messages. They *represent* something else to bunnies than they do to Hoomins. Hoomins see pooties and puddles; bunnies see scents, boundaries and rights. It's a whole Other Level of Unnerstanning, and a Whole Dif'frunt Language carried out in Lagomorphin, not Hoomin.

I think I've said someplace else in this Blog that Lagomorphs, which is Whut We Are, speak Lagomorphin as our Furst Language and some of us speak Inkwish as a Sekond Language. Lagomorphin is not a written-down language, but then, Inkwish has no pooties or puddles involved in it, and a whole lot less body-language!

But because of Dif'frunce, there is Room For Misunnerstanning. And oncet that door for Misunnerstanning is open, even just a crack, you just know that someBun is gonna slip through!

As it seems to do amongst Hoomins who even share the same concept of communication, but dif'frunt werds, like Russian, Inkwish, and American. Just like Hoomins who do not communicate in Lagomorphin misunnerstand boundaries, rights and abilities for pooties and puddles.

So it is amazing to me just how much misunnerstanning goes on - and then, not. But whut seems even stranger to me is how liddle time is spent on learning to unnerstand.

Bunnies can unnerstan each udder acrosst the planet just by leaving one small pile of pooties, but Hoomins are still misunnerstanning each udder and stumbling over language-barriers.

---------------------------- By George


Posted by Our Warren at 12:23 PM EDT
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Wednesday, 3 October 2007
George's 10th Strand (2007); Day Number 3
Now Playing: Drizzle

This is one of those sorts of mornings on which Noo Joisey reminds you that it is a coastal state. You stick your nose out of the door and sniff fog.

And then, a little later on, there is drizzle, and you begin to wonder if Dadda put the lid down on the Hay Bin nextest to the Houz, but you aren't sure about Whut You Heard Lastest Night because you were Hungry and 'Noyed when the Salads were handed out and they were  Really Small because Maman said Dadda had to Go Toda Store this morning and Lastest Night wasn't This Morning, yet, so he hadn't been.

And Ennyways, Maman says there's a Noo Bale of Hay coming today or tomorrow, so it doesn't matter if the lid on the Hay Bin was slammed shut or not, because Dadda said that he brought in the Remains of the Old Bale and there's Nothing Left in the Bin to get ruined...

Much.

But it's reminding us Outside that Autumn is on the way. There is this tang in the air that Maman says comes off the Arctic or sumplace. She says she could smell it better, and taste it better in Lancashire, but that's because Lancashire is furdder Norf - up that way - than Noo Joisey. 

So she says. We are far enough Norf for us, Fank You. Missy says Noo Yawk is Furdder Norf and that, hexcept for Unkul Michael, Bailey and Janey, and Auntie Michelle and Pumpkin and Rudy Esquhare (who has passed her Salad Bar), and Auntie Fern and The Fosters, we don't know ennybunny else in Noo Yawk Ciddy.

Bunnies do not need to sniff any tang in the air to know that Autumn is on the way. We can smell it long before Maman. For hextample, I am all through my Summer Shed already, and preddy much, so is Missy. Dusty's done and Mouse is just wearing a slight fringe on his backside. Foxie is still blowing her coat, but this is because I suspeckt this might only be her sekond Summer Shed, ever.

Dusty axtually said this was his Sekond 'Dult Sekond Summer Shed, mainly onna'count obba Fakt that he woke up one morning and started yelling, "My fur is falling! My fur is falling!" and we had to calm him down some before we could tell him that the Summer Shed is perfecktly Nat'chural Annual Event for a HouseBunny.

That boy really needs to Calm Down.

One of the advantages to living in a Warren is that there are other bunnies around to hextplain Weird Stuff to you that's Perfektly Normal. Like why we wave our ears when we have a Fink about those we love, like Gabe, Buttons and Maggie's Mawmie, at the KrasiWarren. Bunnies know Fings that hoomins don't and so we don't werry in the same way.

I hate to tell Maman (because she gets upset when I point out whut's obvious to everybun 'cept her), but there is more to smell on this morning's air than just Autumn. Da Dawg said he smelled it, and even The Catz mentioned it. It's just that Hoomins don't have Good Noses, which is Not Really Their Fault. It's not part of their Toolkit; they have neve been Prey.

But there is also salt in the morning air. This is the Sea, which is sumfing that I have never personally seen.

And it doesn't smell so very far away, in fact, as I said in the beginning of this entry, it is pretty near to everywhere in Noo Joisey, but living near to the Delaware River (that we can also smell, trust me on this), we tend to fortyget how near to the Sea we really live. It is close and it is warm/cold with jellyfish riding the currents, and huge boats dragging barges down frum Noo Yawk, and small boats ploughing out frum the Inlet to look for fish where the horizon is hidden behind a curtain of grey.

It's only on misty, moisty mornings like this one that the hoomins are reminded how close to the Seashore we really live - and how nearby to Autumn we are coming!

------------------------- By George!


Posted by Our Warren at 9:14 AM EDT
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Tuesday, 2 October 2007
George's 10th Strand (2007); Day Number 2
Now Playing: Indoors Gardin

A month ago, before Maman's computer hadda Nervous Breakdown frum her typing on it, I typed that Dadda had planted a Gardin onna Screen Porch.

Yeah.

Right out there, onna Screen Porch, in pots Dadda added an extra Gardin to Our Warren... Big pots, mostly resembling troughs, and that's Whut He Did.

He said it was Onna'Count obba Fakt that Alla Us Togedder were eating way too much Romaine at Salad Time, and that basically, it was costing him "a mint" to feed us. However, since there is Williamsburg Heritage Mint growing in Hunny's Our Warren Memorial Rose and Herb Gardin Outside, I have no idea Whut He's Talking About. So whut if our Romaine costs "a mint"? We got mint and to spare according to Maman. She says that Williamsburg Heritage Mint is practically taking over Hunny's share of Hunny's Our Warren Memorial Herb and Rose Gardin, so it's not like there is "a mint" shortage or ennyfing going on!

Hoomins are very difficult to unnerstand.

But ennyways...

Dadda has filled these troughs with Speshul Dirt that he Bought at the Gardin Store. Again, why he bought Dirt-in-Bags is also difficult to unnerstand when he has a whole back Gardin that is simply filled with Dirt.

And we're talking Dirt that Da Dawg has even offered to help him dig.

So that can't be a problem. Yet he still had to go off and buy Dirt, carry it home inna car, in bag, drag the bag through the house and then empty the bag-o-dirt into his troughs before he could ebben plant his romaine seeds...

But ennyways...

Dadda bought this Speshul Dirt, cmptied it innu these troughs, and then he also emptied in Dusty's pooties! - before he planted his Romaine Seeds! He emptied Dusty's pootie-box right innu the troughs with the Speshul Dirt!

Like Dusty's are better than ennybunny else's.

But there you are, again - inhextplicable hoomin behvaiour!

Or like Mouse said, it was that Dusty had a full litter-pan. Dusty has a really high out-put level when it comes to turning food-into-pooties.

However...

Then Dadda took Our BunPen and put it around his dirt-filled troughs. He said that if he didn't, Cokie-the-Fat-Cat or Beep-the-Udder-Cat might come along, see alla nice, fresh, speshul dirt and figger that he was leaving them some brand, new cat-pooties trays onna Screen Porch. And he didn't want Cokie or Beep hauling their Gen'rus Butts up innu the Speshul Dirt he'd bought for the Romaine he was hoping to grow, which was why he was putting the troughs inside our BunPen.

Whutebber...

But it also meant that Maman had a'lotta Trubble putting Alla Us Togedder Outside Onna Screen Porch for our Playtime because she couldn't lift the BunPen from over the troughs with alla Speshul Dirt in them. And there didn't seem to be much point in the troughs full of Speshul Dirt because for the Longest Time, there was NOTHING GOING ON in those troughs!

We're talking NOTHING - zip, zero, bumkis! Just dirt-in-troughs.

And every now and then, Dadda would take out a cooking pot full of water and dump it on them. Which began to look pretty pitiful, lemme tell you: a grown man dumping wadder on troughs fulla pooties and store-bought dirt.

So, since it was a Pretty Nice Day yesterday, MissyBun and I finally got to go out onna Screen Porch because Maman finally realised that she had been letting Mr Mouse and Foxie-Chick be out most of the week-end for Bonding Sessions while the rest of Us had to stay in. So Dadda moved the BunPen frum off his troughs, and Missy and I took a turn at wandering around inna fresh Autumn breezes.

And I hadda look innu those troughs.

Well, one pot now has three baby tomato vines - just like the same kind as the monster Santa Sweet Cherry tomato Vine that grew outta Missy's pooties! How do you like that? They don't come more Orgainc than that! Missy eats a tomato, pooties out the seed and that seed falls innu the whole mess of Yesterday's News litter and grows innu a huge tomato vine where you can have your own Santa Sweet Cherry Tomatoes and have enough to give baggies full of 'em to your Friends, Rellytibs and Nextest-store Neighbours. This place is practically floating in them! All thanks to Missy's taste for Tomatoes and Missy's Gen'rus Butt.

Ennyways, there are three of those plants that Dadda found growing onna Composty Heap, dug up, transferred and planted up here inna Speshul Dirt. And they're doing well. By Christmas, we shuld have Yellow blossoms and 'Mater Balls, Maman says; no need to decorate. 

And in anudder pot, there is a fine fringe of sumfing growing that is either very fine baby carrots, or else more of the whispy stuff that grows on Phil's chin. Dadda says these will grow up to be Carrot Balls onna'count obba Fakt that he planted a New Type of carrot that grows into round balls, not long sticks like we are used to.

Hokay...

And Inna Udder Troughs, there seems to be more finge-like stuff that Dadda says is "Parsley - Generic" - because he planted both Curly Parsley and Flat Parsley, but he has no idea which one is rising to the occasion. Could be either one, or else it's alfalfa hay, or Timmy Hay, which Dusty also eats.

That's Whut Happins when you use bunny pooties for fertylizer: there could be a surprise in every pan! Gardinin' with Pooties is like gardinin' with Forest Gump: you nebber know whut you're gonna get! 

So that's where the Indoors Gardinin is atta momint.

And we are still hopeful that there is Romaine in there...sumwheres...

----------By George!


Posted by Our Warren at 11:27 AM EDT
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Monday, 1 October 2007
George's 10th Strand (2007); Day Number 1
Now Playing: Well, I'm Back Again: Names

Well, Phil has fixed Maman's computer, and even though she is trying to do five things at once, she says that I have a right to get on with my Projekts, too. So I am back at my 'Puter, and able to type my own Thoughts and 'Pinions as I should be...

Which is Hextercising the Sekond Ammendmint of the Bunny Bill of Rights ("The Bunny Can Say Ennyfing"), which is supported by the Furst Ammendmint ("The Bunny is Allus Right"), all of which is more or less typed out for Hoomins to read onna RIFRAF News web-site. Just click onna link and do your best to keep up. 

Ennyways...

What I want to talk about is the Giving of Names.

Yeah.

There is an article in today's New York Times by Michael Wines. You can read it here. It is about how people in South Africa name their children after significant events in their lives, rather than pick their chilrens' names from "whut's fashionable" the way hoomins seem to do.

It's like, How Hoomins Pick Names.

The hoomins in the New York Times have names like "Godknows" (he was a sickly child an only God knew if he would survive to become an adult) and "Enough" (the last-born of a large family) that are very logical names - once you know the story behindwhy they were given. Names tell a story. So the story in the New York Times is about Hoomins that have been given names that tell a story.

Yeah. 

Well, bunnies have very logical names, too, which is why it is best that Hoomins don't "name" them, but wait for bunnies to tell their hoomin companions their names. You listen for a name, you don't tell a bunny their name. If you are a good listener, you'll find out.

It is very presump-shush of Hoomins to tell us whut our names all-ready are, you know?

Like take Our Missy as a Hextample.

When she arrived at Unkul Michael's, he had been told that her name was "Fuzzy" or "Fluffy" or someFing like that. But he had been around bunnies long enough to know that *that* wasn't her name. And he would have discovered her name if his Housebunny, Kramer, had liked the idea of having another bunny in the house, which he didn't, which is why Unkul Michael axted Maman and Dadda if they had room for her in Our Warren.

Which they did.

So Missy came to live in Our Warren, and Maman said, "We're going to wait for her to tell us her name."

And that was back when Our Warren lived in the Old House, and Belinda was Top Bunny and meHunny was Senior Bun, and before Ms CloverBun was bonded to Beebe-Bunny!! and before I was rescued. In other werds, it was a Long Time Ago, and this is Part of The Lore, as it was told to me by meHunny, Senior Bun of Our Warren. And I am passing this on to you. So please listen.

Ennyways...

So Missy was in a Habbytat nextest-store to Belinda Bunny, who was the Top Bun of Our Warren.

And the Furst Nite that Missy was in Our Warren, just after Maman shut off the lights after Salad Time, and it was dark with only the starlight and the streetlights streaming in through the blinds, and the sounds of bunnies munching their Romaine Cups, Belinda Bunny stopped eating her salad and looked over to where Missy was and said  "Whut?"

And Missy said, "Who are you?"

And Belinda said, "I am Belinda."

And Missy axted, "Whut's that - Belinda?"

And Belinda answered, "Beautiful. It's my name. Who's you?"

And Missy answered softly, "I miss my mawmie-person, and miss where I was bifore I was heer."

And Belinda axted her, "Where's your mawmie?"

And Missy sed sadly, "I dunno. I miss so much..."

And Belinda sed, "Start frumma Beginning. When you were a Kit. I amma Top Bunny heer anna Nurse Bunny to help you innu Our Warren. Begin atta Beginning and we will find your name."

And Missy began: "I was a kit and then I was in a pet-shop. And then a man took me to a nice Hoomin lady. But she was sik, or not well or sumFing. But she was nice to me and we sat togedder on her bed and she petted me and I made her smile. Then the hoomin man put me inna Cage if I didn't 'sit still'. Then he put me back inna Cage if I got 'big', and I got 'big' and I didn't 'sit still'."

And Belinda said, "It is not your fault. You growed frumma kit to a bunny and that's just Nature. He was a Stoopit Hoomin. Go on, tell us more."

And Missy went on, "Then he took me down sum stairs innu a Dark Room and a cat came to prod me and dogs barked at me and I missed my mawmie-lady who petted me. Then afta I had been down inna Dark Room inna Cage for long while by myself anna'fraid OnAlone, Unkul Michael came to Rescue me and bring me Uppystairs to where there was light and fresh air and most impawtantly, No Catz. But his bunny, Kramer, was usted to being an Only-Bunny and didn't like me habbin his treatz, but I still miss Unkul Michael. And Now I am heer and I miss my hoomin-mawmie and I miss Unkul Michael and I ebben miss Kramer!"

And Belinda said to Missy, "You can tawk to Our Maman, now, and tell her your name."

And Missy sed, "I don't habba name."

And Belinda said, "You are missing ebberybunny so far in your life. Dat issa biggest Fing in your life - dat you are 'missing' alla dis stuff. So your name is pro'bly 'Missing'. And you kin tell dat to Maman."

And Missy looked at Belinda and said, "And your name is 'Belinda' because everyfing in your life is beautiful, wiffa handsum husbun, anna habbytat, and being TopBun and all?"

And Belinda looked severely down her nose at Missy and said shortly, "No. I wassa a Shelter Bunny. Now I gotta Watch Ober Maman anna Rest ob Our Warren. Nuffin' in my life has been particuarly beautiful - only me; I am Belinda."

Anna nextest morning, Missy whiskered softly to Maman as she was changing her wadder-crock. "I am 'Missing'."

And Maman turned to Dadda and said, "Brian, I think this bunny we brought from Michael's has finally told me her name!"

And Dadda, who was leaning over, trying to see something with meHunny sed, "Whut's that, dear?"

And Missy whiskered softly again, "My name is 'Missing'." But because she felt shy and timid, she was being very, very quiet.

And Maman said to Dadda, "I think her name is 'Missy'!"

And Missy looked over at Belinda and Belinda was sitting there in her habbytat along with Hawthorn, and Belinda shifted her weight on all four paws and shrugged.

"Hokay," she said, "Dat's aboud'as good as your gonna get frum her. Bemember, Lagomorphin is only her sekond language."

So you see, naming children for events is not something that is unique to Southern Africa. I believe that it is actually universal. Being a somewhat literary lagomorph, I have looked up our Dadda's and Maman's names, and here is what I have discovered:

Our Dadda's name, if translated from the language of his native Celts, would be "Angelface". Maman says that it fits, but Dadda says only she can see it. Dadda also says ennybunny who tries calling him "Angelface" who is not Maman is looking to try that famous Southern Inkwish Culinary Treat, The Knuckle-Butty (whutebber *that* is...)

Our Maman's name would be "Little-Girl-Named-After-Charlemagne" which would probably be more like "Little Empress" which more or less fits when you Fink about it for a little while, since she was an only child and everything.

And Our Phil means "Horse Lover" which means prob'ly nothing until you bemember that Maman's only love (until she met us bunnies) used to be horses, and she still would love to someday have a pony. And then it makes sense that she would give a name like that to her son, who she hoped would grow up to love animals. And it worked somewhat - Phil has Five Stoopit Catz, all of them Rescues.

So naming conventions amongst Hoomins do not actually vary much at all. In fact, they are very like the conventions observed by Lagomorphs and most other species. Names are Important!

Oh, and "George", well, it means "Farmer", someone who grows. And  that is Whut I Do: I am busy Growing 'Tellygint.

-------------------- By George!


Posted by Our Warren at 12:05 PM EDT
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Monday, 27 August 2007
George's 8th Strand (2007); Day Number 27
Now Playing: Bright Spots

Every now and then, you get disgusted with polly-ticians, you know?

Either they write the wrong laws that only benny-fit themselves or their friends, or else they're doing selfish things or running nasty 'lekshun campeigns to get Votes. Or sumfing.

And just when you fink they can't do ennyfing good, then along comes this Gov. Ed Rendell and his wife, Judge Marjorie Rendell to change up your mind.

They wanted anudder dog to be a Companion Animal to their five year-old dog, Ginger. So they 'dopted Maggie, a dog who was living in a shelter!

Yeah!

They rescued a dog! They gave a nice dog a Second Chance at having a Forever Home!

Now this Gov. Ed Rendell might not be the Best Polly-tician inna Werld, but he and his wife, Judge Marjorie Rendell, have their hearts in the Right Places!

And you get the feeling that Judge Marjorie Rendell is sorta the last judge that horrible-Michael-Vick-guy would want to come before, to hear whut his sentance was gonna be! As it is, he is gonna come before a Judge who hassa liddle fluff-ball obba doggie, and hoomins seem to be tired of making hextcuses for these over-paid sports-playing' barbarians.

You can read about Maggie and Ginger, the First Dogs of Pennsylvania in today's Philadelphia Inquirer by clicking here

And here is Bright Spot in Sports that I want to bring to your 'Tention! Not ALL Sports players are overpaid barbarians. There are sum Good Hoomins Who Play Wif Balls and wun of them is Chase Utley of the Philadelphia Phillies!

But Furst is the Bad Part of the story:

A nice lady was walking home frum somewheres in Philadelphia when she came upon a group of boys beating up a poor young boxer-cross puppy. They had thrown gasoline on it and set it on fire! As Maman says, "Bastards."

So ennyways, the lady scared off the boys and grabbed the poor puppy and called the Pennsylvaina SPCA for help.

Now please note that the SPCA is not a National Anti-Cruelty Enforcement Agency, although it should be! It is a private charity that runs strictly on donations and assistance frumma public! (That would be YOU.) Every SPCA is on it's own!

So ennyways, when this poor liddle puppy was brought into the PA-SPCA, Jennifer Utley, the wife of Phillies Second-baseman, Chase Utley, saw her and right away offered to take care of alla her v-e-t and re-hab bills, and offered a Reward for the capture and prosecution of the horrible hoomins who hurt this poor doggie!

You can read about this poor, young doggie at NBC10 here and here at the Philadelphia Inquirer. And you can read about the Pennsylvania SPCA by clicking here!

So here are Bright Spots in the Mid-Atlantic Metro-Area - the Rendells and the Utleys; one family is in polly-tics and the other is in professional sports, but both families are making a diffrence in Aminals' lives, by Adopting and Rescuing.

Of course, reg'lar hoomins 'dopt and rescue, too. Maman and Dadda rescued Alla Us Togedder from all over, and they rescued Both Catz and they Adopted Marc-the-Border-Collie from Rawhide Rescue.

So we come frum dif'frunt places, but the end result is the same: we have Forever Homes here at Our Warren.

So Dadda said we bunnies are 'spensive, so this week, Our Neighbour, Don, (who doesn't profess to like us bunnies!) gave Dadda two big tubs to grow stuff in, and Dadda went off to buy dirt. Maman can't qite see the need to *buy* dirt, not when the whole Back Gardin is entirely Made Outta Dirt, but Dadda was intent upon getting Really Good Dirt, which is better than the Dirt that is in the Back Gardin, which he says is Really Inferior Dirt.

So he went and bought two huge bags of Really Good Dirt and left them where Maman couldn't move them for a coupla'days.

And she told him she was tired of falling over them, and would he please do "sumfing" with them, besides leave them where she would be always falling over them.

So Dadda moved Mr Mouse, and got the Big Planters that Our Neighbour Don gave him and took alla that stuff out Onna Screen Porch.

So this was looking a lot like a Projekt, and all Projekts hab to be Supervised by AT LEAST One Dawg (Sekurity) One Cat (Bother) and Two-of-Us (Commentary).

So Dadda poured in the Really Good Dirt-Frumma-Bag. And it looked like pretty good dirt, as dirt goes. And he broke up all of the clumps, and got one of those little hand-rakes frum outta the Gardin Shed (as opposed to the Tractor Shed) and raked the Really Good Dirt-Frumma-Bag all over, so it was lying all nice and even inside of the planters Our Neighbor Don gave him, and then it was time to add Pooties.

Now Bunny Pooties are the BEST Fertiliser in the Werld. Full-Stop. You can't find better. Bunny pooties can be used straight frumma bunny, no composting needed, no lime needed - just pile them on, fresh frumma pottie-box. A bag-fulla bunny-pooties is like farmers' gold, lemme tell you.

So Dadda hadda fine selection of bunny pooties frum which to choose: MissyBun and I hadda large pan fulla medium-to-large pooties, nicely compacted by Missy sitting on them alla time into nice, solid bricks. Then Mr Mouse had a loose gathering of small, uniformly-shaped pooties - not as many (onna'count obba Fakt Maman had cleaned his litter-box out), but all of a similar size and shape deposited correctly in a neat pile in his Yesterday's News. Foxie had a similar pile of small, nicely shaped pooties, but she'd mixed them up with generous helpings of hay, in addition to the Yesterday's News, so that her pootie-box was fuller-than-it-shuld-have-been.

And then there was Dusty's pootie pan, and lemme tell you, that sucker was *full* of large, round pooties, loosely piled, just waiting to be emptied into sum Really Nice Dirt!

Now you have to unnerstand that Dusty is an Eating Machine. You feed herbs and lettuce leaves in one end and pooties come out the other. Feed in pellets and hay and out come more pooties. Maman says it's a fascinating process, almost as fascinating as MissyBun, this watching Wun Fing go in Wun End Obba-bunny and discovering SumFing-Else Atta-Udder-End-obba-Bunny.

So Dadda emptied alla Dusty's pootie-pan into into his Gardin Boxes, raked them over with more of the Really Nice Dirt and then put in Seeds that he had bought frumma Burpee Seed Place.

And he put on MORE Really Nice Dirt, raked that over and added Water.

Then he said to Us, "Hokay, that ought to hold You Buggers."

So Missy and I went to have a look at the Gardin Boxes out onna Screen Porch this morning.

And there's Nothing Going On!

There's just the Really Nice Dirt inna Gardin Boxes that Our Neighbour, Don, gave to Dadda, all raked over just the way Dadda left it yesterday aftanoon!

And nothing else. There's no lettuce, no parlsley, no dill, no baby organic carrots - nothing, except Really Nice Dirt, with Dusty's pooties unner'neath.

Oh, and our Bun Pen is around the Gardin Boxes. And Cokie was looking at the boxes and saying it wasn't worth his dragging his butt over the top obba Bun Pen to go dig inna Really Nice Dirt, either.

So there you have it - We all have talked it ober, and even the Catz say that the Gardin Boxes full of Really Nice Dirt are so far, preddy useless. Maman says for us to be patient. Missy hadda look and says mebbe the boxes need more pooties and put her paws up onna side ob Wun Box to look in, but like Cokie-the-Fat-Cat says, it's just not worth the effort to pull herself up into it.

So we're going to wait.

And see.

---------------- By George!


Posted by Our Warren at 9:40 AM EDT
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Sunday, 19 August 2007
George's 8th Strand (2007); Day Number 19
Now Playing: Truth-In-Packaging

...And this is not to say that bunnies have anyfing against the Grand Idea of Trial by Jury!

Although we have nothing like it in Our Lore, it is as good an idea as any other and an improvement upon the hoomin concepts of Trial by Combat or Trial by Ordeal, lemme tell you. Maman has read us Lots of Hoomin History and under the Heading of "Stoopit Hoomin Ideas" the various Fings that pre-date Trial by Jury loom pretty large.

And I'm not saying that somebun should be "presumed guilty until proven innocent", either - although that is another hoomin legal concept that has had a certain historical track-record, too.

But whut I am saying is that when sumbun is accused of sumfing, they should have a Trial, not have alla this "plea" stuff, and lawyers wrangling, and "deals".

I will hextplain

There is such a Fing as "bending over backwards onna premise that it looks to be more than fair".  Unner the Hoomin Constitution Obba United States, a hoomin is given the Right to a Speedy Trial by (his) Peers. Well, all-righty then, this ball-playing hoomin who is accused (by his friends and relations) ob hanging and/or drowning his very own dogs (who trusted him!) should have his "speedy trial" - like Right Now.

Fortyget "plea bargaining", fortyget his "making a deal", just get going and have his Rights Respected and get going with his Trial. Everybun present their cases and let's see if he is Guilty or Not Guilty of Taking Eight Lives.

And *then* alla newspapers can speculate about his "future", and his "career" playing with a ball - if he still retains either!

But because he has aLotta munny, and because he can play with a ball - and Most of All, because he is hoomin! - he is getting Special Treatment, by being offered treats and goodies and lesser punishments if he will admit he hanged and drowned his very own dawgs, because there is the presumption of hoomin arrogance that states a Dawg's life is not as valuable as a hoomin's.

As I said yesterday, one hundred years ago the same thing was believed about  various other hoomins; in some (mainly Arabic) nations where slaves are bought and sold, it is still believed!

Yeah!

Anywhere slavery is still practiced, hoomins are counted amongst the rest of Us. Anywhere there is gender inequality, some hoomins are counted as "more equal than others".

Bunnies, however, reguard bunnies as bunnies - lop, uppy-eared, broken, chequered, or self-coloured we are all the same. There is no distinction amongst Giants, Swarves, Minis or Standards: We are Bunnies

And we are Allus Right

Hoomins *really* need to get over themselves!

Say What You Mean, and then Mean Whut You Say - or Truth-in-Packaging - would go a long way towards improving the hoomin condition, if you care to Axt-A-Bunny.  

  • If you make a law to have Trial By Jury, then have a Trial By Jury.
  • If you make a law to have a Speedy Trial-By-Jury, then have one without delaying to offer deals, threats, treats or tricks!
  • And you cannot say that "life is sacred" unless you are prepared to mean *all* life - because life is life.

The Divine Spark that animates us all is the same gift from the same Giver! (And there are more reasons to Believe than there are not to do, thus is there Reason that begets Science, because Ignorance and Confusion are the hallmarks of evil.)

Maman says she is "struggling" with the Christian concepts of "Justice" and "Mercy". This means she is doing aLot of Reading again. Yesterday, Missy went to jump up on the sofa inna Sitting Room and began a Cascade of Books.

Yeah!

However, my MissyBun can luge with the best of them.

She began by riding "Jesus:The Mission and The Man" then transferred in mid-slide to to the larger, heavier "Clifton's Encyclopedia of Heresies and Heretics" and rode that down until it slammed into Cokie-the-Fat-Cat who was sort of dozing onna carpet. Then Cokie took off and tried to four-wheel it over the Dawg who was (as usual) clogging up the doorway. Of course, as soon as the Dawg felt Cat-claws struggling over-the-top ob him, he jumped up and headed South, downnaHallway and met Phil who was attracted uppaHallway by Maman's scream as Missy went over-the-side of the sofa...

Ennyways, as the Dawg was trying to ex-cape frum the Cokie-Cat (who was trying to ex-cape frum the Cascade of Books with MissyBun riding on top), he tried to squeeze between Phil's legs but since the Dawg was wearing Cokie-Cat as a passenger, this didn't work too well and there was lots of yelling of whut Dadda calls "Anglo-Saxon-isms" that Phil swears to Maman he learned inna Navy.

So Ennyways, Missy was fine, seeing as how she was only riding on a Book and hadn't fallen off the sofa at all. But Cokie-the-Fat-Cat had torn open the 25-pound bag of Purina Cat Chow just that morning and had eaten *lots*, so he threw up All Over the rug in Maman's Study... so he decided Whut He Really Needed To Do was to go Uppystairs and Comfort Eat. And Beep-the-Udder-Cat, not to be Left Out of all the Chaos, took it into her head to protest that the Not-Mechanical Cat-Litter Box was not full of enough litter, and so she left sumFing for Maman to clean up on the rug, as well.

And the Reason Phil was here so early was onna'count obba Fakt that he had been sleeping happily in his bed when his youngest kittycat, Lillie, decided that Whut She Really Wanted to do was to pull on a Window Blind. Well, she got Lucky, and snagged two of the buggers with wun claw, and both of them *snapped* right to the ceiling - letting in alla nice, bright, brilliant morning sunshine to glare directly into Phil's eyes!

So Phil was awake.

So he got up outta his bed, and went off toda Bafroom. Anna lid to his hoomin litter-bowl was down. And this was Not Good, because while he had been to sleep, his Senior Cat, KayCee-Kitty (who is the Queen and Empress of EveryFing Belonging-to-Phil) had torn open the Noo 25-pound bag of Purina Cat Chow, eaten more than Wun Small Empress could hold and thrown up the excess on top of his hoomin litter-bowl where there was no litter!

So Phil cleaned *that mess* up and then he said to his five kitties-all-lined-up-inna-row (which would be in order of Age and Rank: Empress KayCee Kitty, Toby-Left-Behind, Munchkin/Mischief, Lillie-Waif and Oscar-Ozzie,) "You know whut? I give up on you lot." and he drove over to Our Houz to find a Quiet Cup of Coffee.

Where he ran straight innu da Dawg, both Catz and Alla Us Togedder.

Now Long Ago, according to Our Lore (as I learned it frum me,Hunny, Senior Bun), Maman promised Dadda that when he married her he would never be bored. And he never has been. ...Truth-in-packaging, lemme tell you!

----------------------------- by George!


Posted by Our Warren at 11:03 AM EDT
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Saturday, 18 August 2007
George's 8th Strand (2007); Day Number 18
Now Playing: The Confusion of evil
Collectively, Our Warren has seen many kinds of evil. Probably more of the kinds than most hoomins. It is in Our Lore, Our Stories of Who We Are, and How We Came To Be. We know evil because we have seen it, lived through it and know that we have to stay Ona'Lert for it, so that it will never find Us again.

Because evil is real, and it is Out There, and it wears many faces and it will not go away in Our Time.

Of course, I do not want to write about evil. Who would? It is much better to type about happy things and happy times. It is more fun to amuse than to distress.

But evil is pulling a Trick and if I didn't type to you about it, I would be not Doing My Job as Top Bun in Our Warren.

In every Warren there are jobs. When Our Warren first came to our New Houz, we didn't need a Top Bun, because me,Hunny (Senior Bun) came with us. He was very old, but that didn't mean that he wasn't In Charge of the Warren - he was, and that was Hokay by Alla Us Togedder.

But then me,Hunny went on to the Rainbow Bridge, and since we all had Our Places in Our Warren, we didn't *need* a Top Bun.

At first, I didn't see the need to Grow Up. It was Hokay that we were Alla Us Togedder, living by The Lore, with me typing in The Hay Diaries Blog, sounding like I always did, like Little George, Cute and Cuddly, always Resaonable, always Adorable, always the Babby of Our Warren - and telling stories that amused everybunny.

But being *liked* isn't everything. Being popular and being Cute isn't everything.

Happiness is not a bag of Baby Organic Carrots and there is more to Life than Parsley and Dill.

So I have been reading Newspapers with Maman, and what I have discovered is this: evil is still alive and well.

There is a great evil that is confusing hoomins Right Now! It is All Over the newspapers, typed in columns yards long in the "Sports Pages" - There are hoomins who are worrying about - and writing about, and typing stories like-they-care-about! - the "future *career*" of someone whose friends say, "Look at me! I helped this man, my friend, drown and hang our very own eight dogs!"

And what does that hoomin - their "friend" (they admit it!) - do as a *career*?

He plays with a ball.

Our Dawg plays with a ball!

The men who have (by their own admission) hanged and drowned their very own dawgs get paid millions of dollars in munny.

Our Dawg plays with his ball for Milk-Bone Dog Biscuits.

The men who have - by their own admission! - hanged and drowned their very own dogs (who trusted them!) are watched on tellyvision by millions of hoomins.

Our Dawg is happy to be watched by Maman and Dadda, and Phil-the-Lad, and Alla Us Togedder, and sumtimes by Our Neighbour, MaryBeth and her two Dawgs, Lilly and Penny.

The men who have - by their own admission! - hanged and drowned their very own  dogs (who no doubt trusted them, because they had no choice!) called their home their "Bad Newz Kennel" - (truth-in-packaging so far as the dawgs there were concerned!).

Our Dawg calls his home his "pack", his natural place to be - and knows he is safe here.

Yet the hoomins who make the Rools regarding Playing With Balls On Tellyvision are willing to "wait and see" and are willing to "presume innocense" while this man, whose friends admit their guilt, "bargains" for his "future" to play with a ball.

What is wrong here? Is it not enough that eight lives are gone from the world? Is it because this man can play with a ball, (and Our Dawg plays better because he is twice the hoomin's age and still going strong!), that he is being treated like he is special? Is it because he is hoomin, he is being treated like he is special?

Because - lemme tell you - if this man was a dawg, and he had taken away eight lives, it wouldn't matter if he could play ball or not, hoomins would take away his life - would they not?

Am I equating a Dawg's life to the Life of a Hoomin?

Lookit, some hoomins cannot accept that.

  • One hundred years ago, some hoomins could not accept that female hoomins had souls.
  • Less than one hundred years ago, some hoomins could not accept that hoomins who looked different from them had souls.

Hoomins will learn what we Bunnies have known since the Dawn Of Time: We Are All Creations; We All Come frum the Same Architect of the Universe, so a Part of Him is Inside of Us All.

Evil does not like that there is One God and it is not It. Evil is less than God (evil got to choose, after all) and misery likes company, so evil will continue to try and confuse the Issue of Good vs. itself. It is in it's interests to do so. But it is hoomins' choice to see the Path By Which They Tread.

And hoomins can choose: to make excuses for evil (and believing that they are being good by so doing - because "after all, a man is innocent until proven guilty") or believing what is before their eyes: taking life is wrong.

I do not know how it can be Right.

----------------------------------- By George


Posted by Our Warren at 12:55 PM EDT
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Friday, 17 August 2007
George's 8th Strand (2007); Day Number 17
Now Playing: Moments According to the Lore

Some things are passed up from the grass-nest nurseries through the tunnels, and out through burrows into the green living-world beneath the blue-sky. Much of it is silly chit-chiat, I hear, the same much of a muchness of chitter and and gruff heard all over the planet when critters are all waking up Togedder Atta Very Same Momint. And we really do rise togedder, or else get stpped on, or shouldered around, or darted across, or rolled over, or have something else done to us that makes getting more sleepy-time out of the Question.

But it is just when you are at your most exasperated, when you are cross and don't want to talk to ebbybun ennymore, an just go off by your onliest to be by yourself, when Sumbunny latches on to you and says,

"Come eat wif me dis day."

Now this invitation isn't so bad, Some of these Elderbuns are quite sharp about bememebering where all best food happens to be. They are the ones addicted to long aftaNonnwalks, and who have time to sit and sniff the evening air to get a fix on a delicious smell. It's a good idea to follow them, beause they might givve you permission to ome back again sometime. They might even invited you to becoe a  curatory at their patch. A good, quiet, amicable bunny with a good head, can set himself up for a life-time of treats this way, if he can listen to storyiesm and stay away from the roughhousing and chasing in which young-bun usually engage,

So when one of these Old Bun asks me to go along with them, I go. I am quiet, ennyways and I like learning almost as much as I like listening.

So the Sernior Bun and I saw a picture of a bunch of men standing around with big trucks and equipment.

"We do not tunnel into Moustains as these hoomins do, not nearly so deep."

And that was preddy much the Truth.

"And if someone gets stuck in a burrow, we dig them out, if they havn't dug themselves out already. Most rabbits dig themselves out if they are't hurt. But this is down far down below the mountain and the mountain is alive."

Maman had left out sum nice Hay for us, along with sum Romaine, and we fell to munching, quietly.

"And the mountain is shrugging it's shoulders, and popping its seams and raining rocks and collapsing the tunnels on the hoomins, even as they dig."

And I said it was terrible. Because it is.

And the Senior Bunny continued. "And they are talking that they must close the mine before anybunny else is hurt."

"Even if there are people down there who are alive?" I asked.

"No one knows one way or the other."

"But there has to be a way to know."

"Maman bemembers a long time ago that once there was a mine being dug out near where her Grandfather lived in Western Pennsylvania, a mine collapsed. And miners were trapped. And there was no way to get to them. And no one knew if they were dead or alive down inside that hole in the mountain."

"And what happined?" I asked.

The Senior Bun shook his loppy ears, the tips of them swaying gently back and forth with the rhythmn of his head.

"Maman says she bemembers that they closed the mine up. She went to see it with her Grandfather - he was a minister and was to bless it like a shrine, and she could hardly believe it. Because there was the gree countryside, all dotted with wild daisies, and the sun shining down, and the water running through the little creeks, and then there was a hill, half of it torn away. And just near-by, was a plat place in the dirt, with more dirt heaped up on it, and a mound of field-flowers and florists' banner or two, fluttering in the breeze. And the words on the banners were picked out in blue glitter and she remembered thinking to herself how crass and cheap the glitter looked on a grave-site.

"And Maman said that she felt it was all very strange and she wondered how she was supposed to behave, so she stood right in the back of the crowd and watched what her Granddaddy did.

"Her Granddaddy had a three-piece suit and a gold watch and chain, and so did some other men who were standing off to one side, but most of the men had brown suits or weren't wearing suits and most of the women were wearing what Maman had been taught to call 'housedresses'. It felt strange, but Granddaddy said was all they had because miners are very poor."

And Maman still wonders, the Senior Bunny told me that Maman still wonders how ennybunny knows when to stop digging and when to continue digging. How do they know when to cover the land over, call in the priests, and say prayers and commend souls to God? Who descides? Who tells the others and why do they obey them?

How do hoomins decide when all Hope is gone?

 
-------------------------------- by George

 


Posted by Our Warren at 7:16 PM EDT
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Friday, 10 August 2007
George's 8th Strand (2007); Day Number 10
Now Playing: This is Scary...

Well, you know, here I am with my mouth full of Salad again.

Isn't it nice?

MissyBun says all food is nice.

Dill is nice, Argula is nice, Cilantro is very nice; Mint is espcially nice when it comes with the lavender-coloured flowers attached, and Romaine lettuce, even the pale green parts nearest the core, aren't at all bad! And pellets are nice when you can pry them out of Maman (who has been miserly with them of late, for reasons unknown, but probably has to do with us having been at the v-e-t's!) and of course, fresh, fragrant Hay is totally wunnerful, as are ALL kinds of Froot.

Yes, Food is very, very nice!

And so here am I, George, with my mouth full, little prehensile lips reaching for more, and Maman says to me,

"Hey George, read this!"

So I got myself lifted up into her lap, set my paws on Dadda's Desk (Onna'count of-the-Fakt that Maman's 'Puter is still lying in pieces on her Study floor) and here is THIS editorial in today's Telegraph Online Edition!

It is about how hoomin women who are middle-aged are now werried about being skinny. Did you know that there are women who are starving themselves in the midst of plenty?

So I axted myself, "Why?"

And Maman said, "They are afraid."

And that didn't make much sense to me, so I hopped offa Maman's lap and went over to the futon where MissyBun was eating Romaine to axt her.

"So, howcome hoomins are so concerned about not eating when they got alla this food?"

And Missy looked at me. "Whut? Sumfing's wrong wiffa food?"

"Nope. Maman said they are afraid."

Missy's ears came up and sort of together as she frowned.

Now I know there are hoomins who say that bunnies do not frown because we do not have the facial muscles to frown with, or the brains to be capable of producing frown-inducing thoughts - which just says to me that these hoomins have never lived with HouseRabbits and have no practical hextperience with us. It seems to me that, no matter whut the Truth happens to be, there is always some ivy-encrusted tower-dweller who insists (in print) to know better and has secured a government grant in order to publish it abroad. And they all seem to cherish the hope of meeting Oprah - live, on-air, in front of millions - so they can demonstrate their ignorance on a grand scale.

But bunnies *do* frown, lemme tell you!

So Missy frowned, tore off anudder chunk of Romaine, and said, "That is so stoopit, it's skerry. Next off, sumbun will say it's a "syn-rome" and they'll all allow themselves to be herded off to a "re-hab" in order to hab more obbit."

And I was, like, "Whut?"

And Missy went on, "It's wike alla dis stuff I read about dis Brit-chik, you know? She gets innu trubble, den goes innu sumplace called 're-hab' and comes out to hab the same trubble all ober again. Dat's why it is called 're-hab' - so you can hab whutebber you had furst ob all, and hab it a sekond or fird or forf time and not be blamed for it. You can just say, 'I bin to re-hab' and so it's all hokay, or else sumbun sends you to 're-hab' so you can go ahead and hab it all ober again."

And I thought about this and it sounded just about right. There are lots of news articles about hoomins going into and out of "re-hab" so it really does seem like that's the place hoomins go to get out of having to deal with the consequences of whatever they've done.

"But how," I axt Missy. "Does this have ennyFing to do with not eating when there is lots to eat?"

And Missy grabbed a stem of Dill and began sucking it in, longways. "Because it's anudder way of making something that is Bad seem to be Good. Everybun knows that Starvation is Bad, but if you are rich, successful, middle-aged, and have everything, then you do it and it becomes Good. It's wike they are sayin',  'Oh wook at ME! I am rich and hab ebberyfing, so now I'm gonna Starve myself so *ebberybun* will notice ME!' Only hoomins could fink dat up, lemme tell you."

And Missy stopped long enough to grab a sprig of Mint. "Wookit yestidday." She went on, munching a large leaf. "Unkul Peter got up at six o'clock inna morning to go reskue a bunny-inna-cage dat was axtchually starvin', right?"

And I said, "Right." because I had heard Maman talking to Uncle Peter last night on the tellyphone, and that's what they had been talking about.

"Hokay." Said Missy. "So whut do you fink dat poor bunny did when Unkul Peter got it safely toda North Georgia House Rabbit Society Bunny Shelter?"

"Um," I guessed. "Had salad?" (Because I know Unkul Peter. He is a rilly soft-touch who hands out treats and salad like he has the key to the produce department at the local supermarket! You should have been here while he was visiting! It was great, rilly great!)

"You betcha." Said Missy. "Whin Maman wnt to gedda drink ob wadder, I talked to Sheeba and she told me alla'bout it. Da poor, starving bunny who was left behind by stoopit, cruel hoomins wif no way ob getting food for herself was so hungry dat she ate ebberyfing dat was put in frunt ob her - salad, pellets, and 'specially alla fresh hay she could stuff in. Because she was thin all rite - thin and cobbered in ticks and fleas - but she wasn't all proud ob herself for being thin. She was starving! And you fink for Wun Momint dat she cared whut udder bunnies thought about how she wooked? No way! All she cared about was habbin' enuf food to stay alive. Anna folks atta North Georgia House Rabbit Society gave her food and she ate it because she knew 'zactly whut it was like to be left behind and be genuinely hungry. She knew dat it was Bad. And dat is whut da hoomins are missing!"

"Dat being left behind and starving is bad." I said.

Missy nodded. "Dat starvation obba body begins wif starvation obba spirit. OnAlone is terrible, which is why we bunnies make such a fuss aboudd'it. Nobunny shuld ebber be left OnAlone. Not ebber."

"So," I ventued, "You're saying that alla these hoomins who are starving themselves when alla this food is alla'round them have been left OnAlone?"

MissyBun nodded. "It's part of this 're-hab' fing. 'Re-hab' is just anudder way ob leavin' ebberybun OnAlone to hab alla dis stuff all ober again wif nobunny caring enuf to stay wif dem to stop da cycle ob OnAlone. Sumtimes I fink dat hoomins need to be 'dopted as much as bunnies, only they won't do it. Now if hoomins wuld allow themselves to be 'dopted innu proper warrens, well, it mite make a dif'frence."

So I grabbed a hunk of Romaine and tore off some. Chewing does help you Fink!

And I Fink dat MissyBun might be right - that this "re-habbing" of Fings might not be a good idea at all, that it might be a way of trying to make Bad Fings seem to be Good Fings, so that even OnAlone can seem like a Good Fing when we Bunnies all know that OnAlone is the worst Fing that can befall ennybunny. Maybe 'doption into a stable, kind Warren is the only way to end OnAlone - for EveryBun!

But I don't know. This is a Huge Discussion, maybe, and Huge can be scary when you are used to allus being prey. Maybe we're just getting Started with it, and we need to talk aboudd'it with very many dif'frunt voices.

But one Fing I do know: Belinda was right! NoBunny must ever be OnAlone!

----------------------------- By George!


Posted by Our Warren at 9:09 AM EDT
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Wednesday, 8 August 2007
George's 8th Strand (2007); Day Number 8
Now Playing: Tea Room & Me

Good Morning!

I had trouble accessing The Hay Diaries yesterday, so there wasn't an entry (for which I apologise).

Was it Dadda's 'Puter and Maman not getting along? Could be. She called it enough Bad Names to make it never want to type for her ever again when she couldn't get into The Hay Diaries the Furst Time. The Fing is, she has a Rilly Short Fuse when she is werking on the 'Puter, especially if it is not Her 'Puter (which she pretends to Unnerstand).

Lucky for her (and by extension, me) the parts to fix her 'Puter are sus'posed to be here by This Evening.

Yeah!

So, Ennyways, this morning, she and I were reading The Telegraph Online Edition Newspaper, just like she always did when she lived in England. And we found this article about a Tea Room in Brighton,  that began a conversation between Maman and Dadda.

The Tea Room, which is named "The Tea Cosy" is owned by two men named David Daly and James Green, and they have Established Rules of Etiquette for those who wish to patonise their establishment. The Rules state plainly: no cell-phones in the tea rooms, no dunking biscuits (hoomins' treats), keeping elbws off the table (I have heard Maman Speak to Phil and SistaBeth about this!), hold your tea-cup and saucer properly, and do not speak insultingly of Her Majesty, The Queen or other members of the Royal Family.

(MissyBun says that this "not speaking insultingly" should extend to her, as well, and she will look into how "one" has this kind of "Rool" written into a "Code of Behaviour".

I told her "Good Luck with that." and she told me I should mind my own business about learning Top Bunning and she would mind Hers. Just so you know how *that* went.)

So Maman read this article out-loud to Dadda and he said, "Good luck to them! I would go there."

And Maman said, "I agree, although some people are calling them 'Tea Nazis' because they feel insisting upon a Code of Etiquette is restrictive."

"I hope their place is heaving." Said Dadda. "Just wall-to-wall. And that those fellows make a mint."

"It says here that if you order coffee, the waiter will show you to the door and point out the three near-by 'Starbucks'." Said Maman. "As he should do. Imagine the nerve of some idiot ordering coffee in a tea room. Stupid people. It says here that one guy banged his head because he was using his cell-phone beneath the table when the owner came in."

"Serves him right." Said Dadda. "People need manners."

"I used to have manners before I married you." Maman went on, flipping through the article with the mouse-pointer thingy. "My coffee table in Waddington never had a thing on it so I could serve tea instantly. I always brewed tea in a pot, and used proper cups. It's only since I returned to the States that I've dropped that like a live grenade. My Grandmother would have said I should have trained you better."

And Dadda made snorty noises into his Big Blue Tea Vat. "I don't train." he said.

And Maman said, "Yes you do, and I have let you get away with murder. You drink tea out of an over-sized cup."

"I've been doing that for ages." Said Dadda, setting his vat down on the floor beside the futon where he was reading.

Over across the room, Cokie-the-Fat-Cat stuck his head up and looked. So did Beep-the-Udder-Cat from where she was sitting in the doorway to Maman's Study, where she was being watched by Da Dawg, who was in Herding Mode this morning. I stretched out full-length on the futon and looked down over the side into the vat. This was because we all knew the same Fing at the same Time: Dadda's tea-cup had four spoon-fulls of sugar in it and it was on the floor now, within reach of four-foots!

And of course, food-stealing is Not Legal. You can axt ennybunny and they will tell you that. However, Search and Recovery *can* be, if you can get away with that. The Rules are not Certain and sumtimes you can manage the Recovery part and sumtimes you can't. A lot of it depends on Dadda's mood at the moment he catches you and how good your Cute is going when that moment comes.

So Cokie gave a preliminary "Chirp" and started across the floor wearing his "Innerested" look. So he got to within claiming distance of the Big Blue Cup before ennybunny else. 

"What would you have done in my Grandmother's house, then?" Asked Maman. "Because she would have given you regular-sized tea-cups and had the pot served, with a chinz cosy and sugar tongs, too."

"I would have done however she wanted." Dadda replied.

"Yes, well, I've let you get away with having that horrible one-pint vat." Said Maman.

"I've been drinking out of this cup," Said Dadda. "For more years than I can count, even before being married to you, dear."

"Yes and well, I should never have let it into the house."

And there was Cokie-the-Fat-Cat, sitting with his paws in front of him, and his head extending outwards towards Dadda's cup as far as he could extend it. And I was looking down, over the side of the futon, and so was Missy. And also, by this time, Da Dawg had figgered out that sumfing was going on behind him, so he was looking over his shoulder with his 'Lert Look on, trying to figure out what was so "Inneresting" to Cokie, and keep an eye on Beep (who was also looking over Da Dawg's shoulder) at the same time.

It is very inneresting to watch a collie-dawg try to get their eyes to go in two different directions at the same time.

"If I had started training you in the beginning," Maman said, "I would never have let that tea-vat into the house. And I would have kept the coffee table clear so that I could serve tea in an instant, and not followed the American convention of using it as some kind of display table for useless ornaments. A coffee table should have nothing more on it than a pane of clear glass that can be easily wiped up in case of spills. It is a serving piece *only* and not a display piece. If I had started you out that way, you would be trained by now; I have only myself to blame that we don't have proper tea all the time."

"But I have always had these big cups." Protested Dadda.

"And you shouldn't. In Waddington, I didn't have a beaker in the house. Not one. Now I seem to have thousands. The bloody things reporduce on their own in the cupboards. And look at me - I drink coffee - brewed coffee! I never used to do that. If I wanted coffee, I drank instant, like a proper English woman."

And by that time, Cokie-the-Fat-Cat was well into "Recovery", with his head stuck into Dadda's tea-cup - which is big enough to swallow Cokie's whole head. And Missy and I (who were looking overboard from the futon) could hear the lap-lap-lap of his little, pink tongue.

And right about that very same moment, Beep-the-Udder-Cat (who is admittedly slow on the uptake) finally figured out that Cokie was "recovering" Hoomin Food (a subject that always innerested her, even though she rarely joined in), shot past Da Dawg (who was trying his level best to look in two directions at one and the same time - and failing) and bounded to a halt at the bottom of the futon.

Which made Da Dawg turn-and-bolt in the same way for which Border Collies are justly famous the werld over, but since he did it in such a narrow space, he banged his butt into the door between Maman's Study and Dadda's Office, and riccocheted offa the book-case, came careening into the Office and somehow managed to fetch up next to Dadda's tea-cup.

So, of course, Dadda looked down and noticed Cokie with his head in Dadda's tea cup and his little, pink tongue going like mad in Full Recovery Mode.

And Cokie was so absorbed in his Recovery that he did not have his Cute on at all!

And Dadda reached down over the side of the futon and smacked the Cokie-the-Fat-Cat-head with the flat of his hand and said, "Whack-a-mole! Get out of there, cat!"

And Cokie came up spluttering with a whole face full of tea. And he swore at Da Dawg as he went by and took a swipe at Beep and went to sulk unner'neaf of the table in the corner.

But he spent the next hour or so cleaning tea-with-four-tea-spoons-of-sugar off his face while niether Da Dawg or Beep had enny. Which goes to show you...sumfing.

And Maman said to Dadda, "See? That cat has no manners. No etiquette. And that would never have happened if you had trained him right."

-------------------------------------------By George


Posted by Our Warren at 7:53 AM EDT
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